The Road Not Taken
by Divide et Imper
Summary: One fateful night a decision was made one that changed the course of life in the wizarding world forever. Enter a world where that decision was made differently, where Neville Longbottom is The Boy Who Lived. *REVISED*
1. Prologue: Paths in a Yellow Wood

**PROLOGUE: Paths in a Yellow Wood**

_Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,_

_And sorry I could not travel both_

_And be one traveler, long I stood_

_And looked down one as far as I could_

_To where it bent in the undergrowth;_

_-- Robert Frost_

"_Don't you ever wonder maybe if you took a left turn instead of a right you could be someone different?"_

_-Annonymous_

**October 31, 1981**

The night was filled with an eerie silence – it was all the more deafening for its unusual presence. Trees swayed silently in a brisk wind - their leaves long blown from each gnarled wooden limb to rest on the cold, damp ground. A shadowy figure cloaked in black moved through the silent wood whose faded pale bark was made sallow by the presence of the specter. A pale hand emerged from the midnight fabric – leeched of all colour with silvery veins slithering under the papery skin like angry snakes. It moved silently, and with intense purpose towards a fork in the closed path. A faded signpost lay between the two paths, gold lettering etched into its surface. The figure paused before the sign, and tilted its head to look down each path, without apparent knowledge of where to go.

Curiously, the figure pulled a rod of wood from an unseen pocket and placed it on its palm rather than glance at the sign. It extended the hand towards the sign post and in between the two paths.

_"Point me"_ The figure hissed, and the wood hovered and spun above its owner's hand, glowing red at the tip as it searched for its master's quarry.

The trees halted in their movement; the breeze disappeared as though the world held its breath. Round and round the wood spun, alternately glowing and fading as the tip passed over the two paths. Finally, and with one jerky movement, the wand shuddered and settled on the right path.

The figure did not immediately move to follow the path, and instead glanced at the other road, clutching the wood tight in its pale fist. It finally moved to the right, heading down the path indicated by its wand.

The breeze kicked up once more, and the trees swayed in relief. Many times, this choice had been made. Many times the figure had come, and always – always it had gone to the right. To the road with the trodden path, and to the family hidden at the end of its route.

Fate, however, had other plans.

The figure paused, and turned back to the origin of the road. Without much thought or consideration, the figure abandoned its previous journey and moved to take the other road – to turn left instead of right. It moved silently, and with greater conviction to the village down that road, where it knew its destiny lay. Down the road less traveled it went, carrying death with it.

The forest sprang to life; the chatter of night animals filling the air as creatures emerged from hiding places to venture out into the world. The stars twinkled merrily overhead – an ironic contrast to the deaths that occurred down the left path. The father died first; bravely attempting to stop the figure from attacking his family. The mother died next – standing bravely in front of her child. Then the moment arrived; the event that would dictate the fate of the world for the next ten years.

A flash of green light lit the entire city – a convergence of powerful magics. Then darkness returned, as a baby's wail sounded out into the forest; loud and pathetic with sorrow. The figure had disappeared.

Down the right path in another small village very similar to the first, a woman woke up with a startled gasp. Glancing at the sprawled form of her sleeping husband, the woman pondered what had awoken her. Her thoughts immediately went to her child, and she drew on her robe and went down the hall to her babe's room. She peered over the lip of the crib, and smiled at the happily snoring form of her son. She smoothed her baby's hair and kissed him lightly on the head before returning to her bed and her husband, who drew her tight against him in sleepy comfort.

Lily Potter smiled and went back to sleep.


	2. The Boy Who Lived

**CHAPTER ONE: The Boy-Who-Lived**

Faith Burbage woke up the morning after Halloween with a dark feeling in the pit of her stomach. Very briefly, she considered calling in sick and rolling over under the covers to ignore the impending day and the feeling of gloom that accompanied it. Only the sound of a dog's whine emerging from the side of her bed enticed her to open her eyes and face the day. She rolled over and scratched behind the ears of her new puppy, Maera, and frowned at the small creature.

"Sweetie, what say you and me just pack up and go to Hawaii?"

Maera canted her head in confusion and stared at her owner who yawned before letting out a sigh and planting her feet on the cold floor.

"Yeah, that's what I thought. C'mon, time to get ready for the city." Faith got out of bed and began bustling about her bedroom as the sun crept up over the suburbs of her neighbourhood.

Faith stretched as she ignored the more colourful and fun elements of her wardrobe and settled on a plain white blouse and grey wool skirt to complete her very common, very normal look. She was unnaturally obsessed with looking completely, and utterly normal, and took great pains never to stand out or draw attention to herself in any way. This made for a boring, but quite safe existence, where no one noticed her at all.

For she had a secret and her worst fear was that somebody would find her interesting enough to discover it.

A few times at work, people would approach Faith about her history and where she came from – their only answer would be a tight smile, and an insistence against discussing it. This behaviour intrigued her coworkers until Faith rather exasperatedly explained that she was estranged from her family, but that they were all as normal and boring as any British family could hope to be.

This however, was not entirely correct. Faith's family was very, very far from normal.

Faith and her family knew magic.

Faith had not attended a prestigious private school in Scotland, but had in fact attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry just as every member of her family had since the founding of the school over a thousand years ago. She had spent seven years turning toads into teacups, flying on brooms for sport, and sleeping through rather boring history lessons from a ghost.

"Blasted thing," Faith grumbled as she struggled with the lever for the orange juicer that provided her daily breakfast, "they can invent a machine that cooks your food in minutes, but they can't make an instant juicer. Bloody Muggles." She briefly contemplated getting her wand and summoning the juice magically, but reminded herself that the whole point of hiding amongst muggles was to become one.

"They should put a cooking class as part of Muggle studies; it'd be ten times more useful than learning about the light bulb, for heaven's sake." She grumbled to her pet as she sipped the centimetre of juice that had resulted from her struggles. "If there was ever an argument for staying a witch, cooking would be the winning point."

For unlike most witches and wizards who secluded themselves from the Muggle world to perform magic, Faith had run away from all the drama and disaster of the Wizarding world to learn to be a proper Muggle. This would have scandalized her poor family except that only three members remained besides Faith herself; and they had precious little time to spare from worrying about themselves.

Faith hardly ever thought about the wizarding world, aside from the weekly letters from her sisters assuring her that they were fine as could be given the circumstances. Generally, Faith found herself to be quite content as she adapted to Muggle ways, and in her rather cushy job as secretary to the Prime Minister. Sometimes she would pause to fret over her oldest sister and her new baby, but those thoughts were quickly chased away by the knowledge that being married to an Auror was practically the safest anyone could be besides at Hogwarts, like her other sibling.

So, despite the gloomy feeling Faith had when she awoke that dull, gray Tuesday our story starts, there was nothing about the cloudy sky outside to suggest that the strange and mysterious feeling she had would come to anything significant. Faith hummed as she put out a small food and water tray for the excited puppy that was rubbing up against her stockings eagerly. If Faith hadn't been so absorbed in thoughts of her family, she would have been quite concerned as a large, tawny owl fluttered past the window.

At eight o'clock, Faith picked up her folio of papers, blew a kiss to Maera, who was busy munching on the provided meal, and stepped cheerfully out the door. "Silly Puppy," giggled Faith as she walked down the street to the bus stop. Within ten minutes, the large red vehicle had arrived and picked her up, and continued on its way past the crosswalk towards her work.

It was at the corner of the crosswalk that she noticed the first sign of something peculiar – a very familiar-looking cat reading a map. For a moment, Faith didn't realize what she had seen – then her hair moved in a tangled swirl as she whipped her head around for a second look. There was a tabby cat standing on the corner of Gossamer Row, but there was no map in sight. Faith's strange feeling grew, and she squinted to get a better look at the cat. It stared back. As the bus turned the corner and moved onwards towards London proper, she watched the cat in the large side mirrors. It was reading the sign that said Gossamer Row. Faith frowned and then gave herself a little shake and turned back to the front of the bus. Surely, she was imagining things. There was absolutely no reason that Professor McGonagall of all people would be sitting on the corner of her street, as no one knew where she lived now, she had been very careful. She chuckled at her own paranoia, and mentally reviewed the various appointments she had scheduled for the Minister that day.

But on the edge of town, meetings were driven out of her mind by something else. As she waited in the usual morning traffic jam, she couldn't help but noticed that there were a lot of strangely dressed people about. People in cloaks. Faith couldn't bear witches and wizards who ignored the statute of secrecy and went about Muggles in their normal clothing – it made the few like her who tried to blend have to work harder to hide. She scowled at the youngsters, she assumed it was some young pure or half-bloods that had recently graduated and believed they could do what they pleased. A group of them were close to the window, and were whispering excitedly together. Faith was shocked to see that some of them were high profile Ministry members; why, Ludo Bagman had recently been promoted in the Department of Magical Games! The nerve of him, wearing a fluorescent yellow and black stripped cloak! Faith growled under her breath and slouched slightly in her seat, wishing she could hex those people for being so unabashedly stupid. But the last thing she needed was a visit from the Ministry regarding her use of magic.

Fortunately for Faith's rather explosive temper, she was too busy arguing with a foreign secretary in French to look out the window later that morning. She completely missed the owls swooping past in broad daylight, which causes the people on the street to gasp in awe. Most of them had never seen an owl even at night-time. Faith, however, had a perfectly normal, owl-free morning. She spoke with three different dignitaries, fetched the Prime Minister his breakfast bagel, and then made the Prime Minister's excuses to his mother, stating he was simply too busy to come visit for tea. She was in a very good mood until lunchtime, when the Prime Minister asked her to get him some pills from the local apothecary's, since trying to speak French had given him quite the headache.

She had forgotten all about Ludo Bagman and his lot until she passed another random group next to the baker's on her way back. She eyed them warily as she passed, as they made her very uneasy. These younger people were also whispering excitedly, and she couldn't see a single Ministry official or Auror about, which was strange as these folk were certainly pushing the boundaries of the statute. As she passed, she caught a few words of their conversation.

"The Longbottoms, that's right, that's what I heard -"

"– yes, their son, Neville -"

Faith stopped dead, as fear flooded her. She looked back at the whisperers as if about to ask them a question, but thought better of it and kept her mouth shut.

She hurried across the road as quickly as she could, rand up the stairs to the conference room, tossed the medication at a very shocked Prime Minister past the French Ambassador's head, wrote a frantic letter, and had almost pulled out her wand before changing her mind. She crumpled up the note and tossed in the rubbish bin before sitting down and thinking her problem out. Longbottom wasn't such an unusual name, she was sure there were many people called Longbottom who could have had a son named Neville. Come to think of it, she didn't even know if her nephew's name _was_ Neville, no one had ever told her. It may have been Norbert, or Norris. There was no point in breaking her cover and worrying Charity; she would only get testy if Faith sent her to check on Alice for nothing. She didn't want to bother her poor sister at her first year apprenticing at Hogwarts, but all the same, those witches and wizards…

She found it a lot harder to concentrate on meetings that afternoon, and when she left to go to the bus stop at four o'clock, she was so preoccupied that she walked into someone just outside the door.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" She gasped, and grabbed the arm of a rather familiar looking blond man who was wearing wizarding robes out in broad daylight. Her jaw dropped as the man gave her a rather large hug and laughed aloud.

"Nothing to be sorry about, this is the greatest day imaginable! Even muggles like you should rejoice – and to think, all because of a baby!" The man chuckled and tipped his rather ostentatious top hat, and continued down the street.

Faith stood rooted to the spot. She had been hugged by a complete stranger, and had been called a Muggle, which was simultaneously a compliment to her ability to blend and offensive as she was a pureblood. She was rattled, even if the man hadn't recognized her and decided to take a cab home instead of waiting for the bus. She rather hoped that it was a random series of events, which she had never hoped before, as she hated being surprised. Faith was also quite puzzled by the man's comment, what did a baby have to do with anything? Perhaps being out of the wizarding world had changed her more than she thought, as she had never been more confused in her life.

When she left the cab and walked up her driveway, the first thing she saw which decidedly did not improve her mood were several owls perched upon the hedge between her house and the next.

"Shoo! You silly birds, leave off, you're going to make people stare! Don't make me go grab Maera and have her chase you out again, Shoo!" hissed Faith quietly. The owls gave her a range of incredibly annoyed stares before finally taking off in a flurry of wings and clicks. Faith sighed and entered her house, completely missing the tabby cat perched beside the hedge, which watched her carefully.

Maera bounded up to her owner excitedly, tracking mud across the tiled floor from her path from the back door, where Faith had installed a doggie flap to allow Maera to roam free when Faith couldn't stay home during the day, or arrange for the boy down the road to walk her. Faith tried to get herself into her normal routine by obediently fetching Maera's leash and walking the silly creature before Faith had to resort to using her wand to clean the floor instead of her trusty mop. When Maera had finally been tired out, and both dog and owner fed, Faith settled in her living room with her puppy to catch the last report on the evening news:

"And finally, bird-watchers everywhere have reported that the nation's owls have been behaving very unusually today. Although owls normally hunt at night and are hardly ever seen in daylight, there have been hundreds of sightings of these birds flying in every direction since sunrise. Experts are unable to explain why the owls have suddenly changed their sleeping pattern." The newscaster grinned, as Faith felt her own jaw dropping in disbelief. "Most mysterious. And now, over to Jim McGuffin with the weather. Going to be any more showers of owls tonight, Jim?"

"Well, Ted," said Jim, "I don't know about that, but it's not only the owls that have been acting oddly today. Viewers as far apart as Kent, Yorkshire, and Dundee have been phoning in to tell me that instead of the rain I promised yesterday, they've had a downpour of shooting stars! Perhaps people have been celebrating Bonfire Night early – it's not until next week, folks! But I can promise a wet night tonight."

Faith sat shocked on her couch, barely remembering to turn off her newly acquired telly. Shooting stars all over Britain? Owls flying in large groups? Witches and Wizards all over the place with scant regard to secrecy? And a whisper, a whisper about the Longbottoms…

Quickly, Faith moved to the tall imposing cabinet in the far corner of the living room with its impressive array of figurines and souvenirs inside. As she tugged open the cabinet, the illusion was replaced by piles of robes and books amid loosely piled notes and letters, covered in dust. She riffled through the sheets of paper until she came upon one of the few pieces of correspondence she had received from her sister. Fearfully, she scanned the lines of the letter, skipping over gossip that her sister had gathered about their friends and long recitals of excitement at being involved in some group with Dumbledore, and found the line she was searching for;

'… _I'm so excited about the baby, Frank and I have completely decorated the nursery with the gifts we received at our combined shower with the Potters – oh Fae, how I wish you had been there! Sirius made the most marvellous presents… but I digress. We've finally decided on a name – Augusta after Frank's mother if it's a girl, and Neville after our father if it's a boy, Charity was so annoyed when she …"_

Faith let the parchment drop as the awful feeling in her stomach spread to the rest of her body. She glanced around her comfortable home, and wondered if perhaps she should floo to Charity anyway. She was worried about Alice, but she didn't want to compromise the life she had set up if nothing was wrong in the first place – surely someone would have written if that was the case. Owls could find anyone, given that they were alive. Faith had the idea of snagging one of the Owl's outside, and using them to send a letter, but found when she peered outside that none of the Owls had remained after her attempt to send them off.

Faith moved up to bed, Maera following in her wake. Maera snuggled up next to Faith above the covers and fell asleep quickly, her pink tongue lolling comically out the side of her mouth as she snored. Faith laid awake for a while, turning all the events of the day over in her mind. She decided that if Frank and Alice had gotten themselves tangled in some piece of outrageous gossip, it could only mean that things in the magical world had finally calmed down, and that it was probably safe again. She decided that she would go visit Alice, and look in on her nephew as soon as she could book time off work, after all, anything involving Alice and Frank didn't involve her at all.

How very wrong she was.

Faith may have been drifting off into a troubled and fitful sleep, but the cat on the hedge outside was showing no signs of sleepiness. It was sitting as still as a statue, its eyes fixed unblinkingly on the far corner of Faith's home on Gossamer Road. It didn't even quiver as a car door slammed two houses down, nor when two owls swooped over head. In fact, it was nearly midnight before the cat moved at all.

It only moved when a man appeared seemingly out of nowhere on the far corner of the mostly quiet street. The cat's swishing tail stilled, and it blinked its green eyes slowly at the strange man.

If Faith Burbage had happened to look out the window at that moment, she would have been absolutely gob smacked at the man making his way calmly down the street towards her home. Not, as it might seem, because of his very strange clothing – long blue robes with a purple cloak and high-heeled boots – or his hair which was a bright silver, and long enough to tuck into his belt along with his beard – but because of _who_ he was.

Albus Dumbledore, as the man was called, seemed completely unconcerned that he had popped up into the middle of a world that had no inkling of who he was, or what he did. He looked around the street, particularly the streetlights in a slightly amused fashion before he started patting the pockets of his robes – clearly in search of something. He only paused in his movements when he caught sight of the cat sitting on a nicely groomed hedge beside his destination. He smiled at the creature, his blue eyes twinkling brightly behind half-moon spectacles that were perched on a rather crooked looking nose, and chuckled, "I should have known."

While the old man continued his business of putting out the street lights and discussing the situation with the cat-turned-woman, not too far away a man huddled over the handlebars of a motorbike, a babe curled in one arm.

Sirius Black had a rather uncommonly grave look on his face as he nudged the flying motorcycle towards the location given to him by Albus Dumbledore. He hadn't quite adjusted to the terrible events of the previous night. Gathering tiny Neville from the shattered remains of Frank and Alice Longbottom's beautiful home had been one of the hardest experiences of his life. He couldn't help but be thankful that he hadn't had to do the same for Lily and James, and little Harry. While the loss of his two friends hurt Sirius dearly, he couldn't help but be glad that the nightmare of the Voldemort's terror was lifted from his world. He could only hope that Dumbledore had a good and safe place for Neville.

He looked down at the angry red scar that ran in a jagged lightning shaped cut on Neville's tiny forehead. Sirius had tried all the healing spells he could remember from his school years, but nothing seemed to make the mark stand out any less. Sirius was just glad that he had got the poor boy to finally stop wailing – even if it did require him to sing lullabies that he would never admit to his friends that he knew the tune to, much less the words.

Sirius' wand hummed from its place on the dash of the bike, indicating that it was time for Sirius to drop down from the cold air above the clouds and down to the street that Dumbledore had said to meet. Sirius tucked the small form of Neville Longbottom tighter in the thick blankets he had conjured for the baby, and nosed the bike downward into the darkness of the Muggle neighbourhood.

"Muggles," whispered Sirius, his dark brows furrowing in confusion, "why on earth would he want the boy to live with Muggles? He directed the bike gently down towards the pavement in front of a rather shocked looking Professor McGonagall, and a cheery Albus Dumbledore.

"Sirius," said Dumbledore, sounding relieved and amused. "At last. Where did you get that motorcycle?"

"James and I confiscated it, Professor Dumbledore, sir," said Sirius, nimbly climbing off the motorcycle as he spoke, patting the handlebar of the great machine fondly. "Arthur Weasley is allowing me to, ah; determine exactly what infractions have been committed. I've got him, sir." Sirius tugged on the edge of his dark leather jacket a bit nervously. It was rather strange to be treated like an equal by two of the most imposing authority figures of his youth. He was rather self conscious, his overlong dark hair falling into his grey eyes, and his tattered jeans drawing a disapproving look from his former head of house. He smiled sheepishly in return, cradling the small baby carefully in his left arm.

"No problems, were there?" Dumbledore moved forward and placed a long thin hand on the edge of the blankets swaddling Neville.

"No, sir – house was almost destroyed, but I got him out all right before the Muggles and Aurors started coming around. He fell asleep as we flew over Bristol, quiet as a lamb, no fuss."

Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall bent forward over the bundle of blankets. Inside, just visible, was a baby boy, fast asleep. Both Professors seemed interested in the scar that had concerned Sirius.

"Is that where –?" whispered Professor McGonagall, tracing a light finger over the wound.

"Yes," said Dumbledore. "He'll have that scar forever."

"Couldn't you do something to heal it, Albus?"

"Even if I could, I wouldn't. Scars can come in handy. I have one myself above my left knee that is a perfect map of the London Underground. Well – give him here, Sirius – we'd better get this over with."

"Could I – could I say good-bye to him, sir?" asked Sirius, unusually grave. At a nod from Dumbledore, he bent his dark shaggy head over Neville and whispered something into the child's ear before kissing him gently on the forehead and handing him over to Dumbledore. Then, suddenly, Neville began crying and screaming at the top of his lungs.

"He'll wake the Muggles!" Professor McGonagall hissed, as Sirius gently took the screaming babe back into his arms, and calmed the child down to quiet snuffling.

"Sorry Professor," said Sirius, taking out a crisp clean handkerchief and wiping the child's face with it. "I guess we've gotten used to each other today – he's so much like Harry. With Alice and Frank dead, and Neville off to live with Muggles –"

"Yes, yes, it's all very sad, but please calm him down Sirius, or we'll be found," Professor McGonagall whispered, patting Sirius gingerly on the arm as she rose with Dumbledore and moved towards the front door. Sirius laid Neville gently on the doorstep, and muttered a quiet warming charm over the blankets. Dumbledore then stepped forward and tucked the letter inside Neville's blankets, and then all three looked at the little bundle; Sirius crossed his arms and frowned anxiously, Professor McGonagall blinked furiously, and the twinkling light that usually shone from Dumbledore's eyes seemed to have gone out.

"Well," said Dumbledore finally, "that's that then. We shouldn't linger overlong here – best be off to join the celebrations while we can."

"Yeah," said Sirius in a tight voice, "I'll be off to look in on James and Lily then. Night, Professor McGonagall – Professor Dumbledore, sir."

Sirius tugged on his sleeves, settling the tight jacket more comfortably on his large frame, and swung himself onto the motorcycle and kicked the engine into life; with a roar it rose into the air and off into the night.

"I shall see you soon, I expect, Minerva," said Dumbledore, nodding to her. Professor McGonagall blew her nose in reply.

Dumbledore turned and walked back down the street, pulling out the Put-Outer as he went. He clicked it once and twelve balls of light sped back to their places in the street lamps so that Gossamer Road glowed suddenly orange. He could just make out a tabby cat slinking around the corner at the other end of the street, as well as a little bundle of blankets on the step of number 121.

"Good luck, Neville Longbottom," he murmured. He turned on his heel and disappeared in a swirl of his blue cloak.

A breeze ruffled the neat hedges of Gossamer Road, which lay silent and tidy under the inky sky, the very last place you would expect astonishing things to happen. Neville Longbottom rolled over inside his blankets without waking again. One small hand closed on the letter beside him and he slept on, not knowing he was famous or special in any way. He dreamed, ignorant that he would be woken in a few hours' time by Faith Burbage's scream as she opened the front door to walk Maera, and that he would spend the next few weeks being licked and tickled by Maera as Faith frantically tried to get in contact with her family. He couldn't know that at this very moment, people meeting in secret all over the country were holding up their glasses and saying in hushed voices: "To Neville Longbottom – the boy who lived!"


	3. Of Letters and Secrets

CHAPTER TWO: The Vanishing Glass

**CHAPTER TWO: Of Letters and Secrets**

Nearly ten years had passed since Faith Burbage had woken up to find her nephew on the front step, but Gossamer Road had hardly changed at all. The sun rose on the same hedgerows, flowered garden, antique bench and lit up the black number 121 on the front door; it crept into the living room, which was almost exactly the same as it had been on the night when Faith had seen that fateful news report about the owls. Only the photographs on the mantelpiece really showed how much time had passed. Ten years ago, there had been only one or two photographs of groups of teenagers in strange uniforms with long black robes, and one of a squished faced pink face in a swirl of blue blankets – but Neville Longbottom was no longer a baby. Now there were many photographs that showed a slightly pudgy brown haired boy riding his first bicycle beside a medium sized white dog, on a carousel at the fair, playing fetch with a larger version of the white dog from before, and being hugged and kissed by Faith. The room held every sign that a young boy had invaded Faith's quiet Muggle lifestyle, and that it didn't bother her one bit.

Neville Longbottom was there, asleep at the moment, but not for long. Maera was awake and it was her energetic barking that made the first noise of the day.

"Ugh, five more minutes Maera, its vacation."

Neville attempted to roll over, but was drawn upright by even louder barks, and the sound of scratching at his door.

"Fine! I'm up! Silly dog." Neville groused, as he padded to the door and opened it to admit his tormentor. A streak of white blazed by the sleepy boy and launched itself onto the mussed bed, sniffing around before leaping off the bed and sitting beside its master with a lolling tongue, wagging tail, and imploring gaze. Maera made a high pitched whining noise as Neville stood in the doorway blinking and yawning, clearly trying to remind the sleepy child of some terribly important duty. Neville was trying to remember the dream he had been having. It had been a good one. There had been a flying motorcycle in it. He had a funny feeling he'd had the same dream before.

His aunt was looking up at him from the bottom of the stairs, an amused smile on her face.

"Maera wake you up yet?" she teased.

"Nearly," said Neville.

"Well, get a move on, I need you to be livelier to look after the bacon while I grab some food for Maera from the shed. After all, you need to be awake for our trip, Candice will be there."

Neville blushed and stammered a query as to what she meant.

"What, you think I wouldn't find out? I have spies everywhere." His aunt chuckled.

"Faith," Neville groaned, very embarrassed. Even Maera seemed to be laughing at him as she nimbly made her way down the stairs and past her mistress.

The trip to the tower, how could he have forgotten? Neville turned and began looking for socks. He found a pair under his bed and, after pulling a spider off one of them, put them on. Neville was used to spiders, because Faith was absolutely terrified of them and always sent him to move the poor things outside and away from her.

When he was dressed he went down the hall into the kitchen. The table was almost hidden beneath all of Faith's papers, scattered cards from coworkers, and large black raven perched beside a bowl of water next to a neatly wrapped parcel. This strange occurrence failed to phase Neville – three times a year a strange bird would take up residence in their home for a few hours, and always with a gift for the occasion – either Faith and Neville's birthdays, or Christmas. Neville recalled the gift of a rather elaborate looking broom that he had received one year that had made Faith nearly fall over in shock. It was the only time she had confiscated one of his gifts, and it was the only one the truly wanted to see. Why someone would put a seat on a broom was beyond him, but it obviously had significance to Faith, as she refused to speak of it no matter how much Neville pleaded.

Neville always wondered if he and his aunt were actually related, for while she was tall and moderately sized, he was kind of short and pudgy. He had hopes for gaining some height as he noticed his clothing becoming shorter and a little baggier, and he fancied he had gained about an inch, bringing him to his aunt's shoulder. Neville had a round face, brown hair, and dark brown eyes. His nose was currently peeling with sunburn because he had been rather distracted the last day of school when Candice McLeod chose to spend her recess with him instead of that great idiot Dudley Dursley who had been trying to get her attention by beating on some poor third former. The only think Neville liked about his own appearance was a very thin scar on his forehead that was shaped like a bolt of lightning. He had had it as long as he could remember, and the first question he could remember asking his Aunt Faith was how he had gotten it.

"When – when your parents died in the accident," she had said quietly. "I don't want to talk about it."

_Don't talk about it_ – that was the only time his Aunt refused to answer his questions, besides the strange broom and the visits from the strange birds.

Maera pranced by his legs with her leash in her mouth as he finished turning over the bacon, his Aunt not far behind in the pretty blue sundress he had saved up his allowance to buy for her.

"Thank you, dear, I'll just be a minute taking Maera over to the Polkis'; that charming sister of that boy – Piers was it? – is going to watch her today while we go to the Tower." Faith said distractedly as she slipped on some old tennis shoes for the short walk. "If you finish before I get back, tuck in, I've already had some toast. And Neville, _please_ try to comb your hair; you look like Maera after a bath."

Neville had finished the bacon, leaving a few scraps wrapped in the fridge to give to Maera when they got back, and began to fry some eggs when Faith reappeared in the doorway with the daily newspaper in hand. She smiled at him, and put the paper on the table before disappearing into the living room and rummaging around while Neville finished preparing breakfast.

Faith re-emerged with two brass coins in her hand, and a few pellets of some type of bird food in hand. Neville placed the plate of eggs on the table, and grabbed a few for himself as his Aunt moved wearily closer to the bird perched on the table with an impatient look about it. Neville was stunned as his Aunt moved to talk to the bird, dropping the little brass coins in a pouch tied to its feet, and presenting the food in the palm of her hand.

"I'm sorry, I haven't had to host a bird around breakfast in a while, and all I have are some owl pellets, if that's alright for you." The bird seemed to glare at her for a moment before deftly snatching the food from her palm and swallowing it in a matter of moments. It patiently stuck its leg out and allowed Faith to untie the grips from its talons that had allowed it to carry the parcel, and then flew to the open window and out the door.

"Temperamental creature, it's not like _I_ was the one who made it fly all this way." Faith huffed, and stiffened when she saw that Neville was watching her curiously. "Well, love, when we're done these eggs, how about we get everything ready for our afternoon out? I'm really quite excited to see the Tower – I'm fairly certain we've had some relatives stashed in there, can't remember why." She winked at her nephew with a teasing grin.

As Neville laughed in response, the telephone rang and Faith went to answer it, leaving Neville to finish off the remainder of the eggs and take the dishes to the sink. Neville had just washed the last dish and placed it on the drying rack when Faith came back from the telephone with an angry and worried expression.

"Bad news, Neville," she said. "Mrs. Figg's broken her leg, she can't watch Candice's little sister, so Mrs. McLeod can't come." Faith looked at Neville's heart broken look, and gave a small smile in return. "Looks as though you're stuck with only me today. I'll make it up to you, we'll go out to Harrod's for ice cream after, how would that be?"

"Amazing," said Neville, as he gave his Aunt an enthusiastic hug. His smile fell slightly as his Aunt gingerly stepped around a rather large dent in the tile of the kitchen floor. A few nights ago, a very strange thing happened in the normally quiet lives of Neville and his Aunt. Neville had been quite peevish with Faith, as they'd had a bit of a row over his chores – so when his Aunt requested that he take the garbage out to the curb to be retrieved the next morning, he'd insisted it was too heavy to lift. Neville had only been trying to goad his Aunt into letting him off his chores for the night, but when Faith tried to lift the bag for him to take, she found that she couldn't. As they continued arguing about the chores, the bag seemed heavier and heavier, until a crack sounded and the tiles under the bag were broken. Neville insisted that he hadn't put anything heavy inside the bag, but when Faith opened it to see what had caused the accident, an impossible amount of rubbish appeared inside the bag. His Aunt quickly interjected that the neighbourhood boys must be playing a prank, but Neville thought she looked very amused as he helped her sort it into easier to manage bags. Strangely, the next morning not a single one of their neighbours had any garbage to put out; Neville overheard the Polkis' exclaiming that it had simply vanished from their bins the night before.

That incident, however, was not the first time something strange had happened when Neville was upset. Another time, Faith had been trying to force him into a revolting Christmas sweater that his Grandmother had sent him (bright green, with brown puff balls that Faith said were supposed to represent Nargles, whatever they were). The harder she tried to pull it over his head, the smaller it seemed to become, until finally it might have fitted a hand puppet, but certainly wouldn't have fit Neville. Faith had looked at him wide eyed, and insisted in a high pitched voice to Grandmother Augusta when she came to visit that it had shrunk in the wash, and to Neville's great confusion, his Grandmother had puffed up in pride and given him five large gold coins and a kiss before leaving.

Neville was a tad worried that there was something wrong with him to cause these strange events. Whenever he mentioned his fear to his Aunt, she would laugh it off with a strange twinkle in her eye, and insist that he was perfectly normal. Faith seemed strangely proud whenever something unexplained would happen around them, and Neville was comforted by the fact that even if he was a horrid jinx, his Aunt seemed to like him anyway.

Going in to London was always a treat for Neville simply because his Aunt couldn't always afford to take them on expensive holidays. So whenever Faith took time off to take him about the town, he knew he was always in for an interesting adventure. Though his Aunt was very smart, and very knowledgeable, she seemed to be fascinated by the most ordinary and boring things. While most parents became aggravated at doing touristy things like tours of Westminster, his Aunt seemed fascinated by history and statues that Neville found rather boring from his history classes. It was almost as though she had never heard the stories that Neville would narrate from the plaques beside the famous objects.

Neville quickly got ready for their trip and bounded down the stairs to meet Faith, who looked more excited than Neville had felt on the last day of school. She grinned up at him, and he felt himself grinning in response.

"All right there, Neville?" asked his Aunt as she shooed him out of the house and locked up. They walked down the sidewalk, Faith's arm casually slung around his shoulders. "So, birthday boy, what shall I get you for a present? I was thinking about a dragon, but they're dreadfully expensive to keep, and there is the slight problem of the fire breathing in proximity to our house…"

"A dragon would be awesome," answered Neville dryly. "I think England's all out at the moment though, so maybe you could settle for a bike? A few of the boys from school have really nice ones that go about the forest and everything.

"A bike? I do think that could be managed," giggled Faith as they waited by the bus stop. "Really though, a dragon would be loads more useful. Postage from Romania would be a tad expensive, I'd reckon." Neville laughed at his Aunt as they boarded the bus, but had the funny feeling that she wasn't entirely joking. Faith sometimes had a strange sense of humour that left Neville wondering if she meant what she said some of the time – which is impossible, because dragons definitely didn't exist.

When they had finished their tour of the extremely packed Tower of London, Faith took Neville for ice cream at the candy department of Harrod's. Neville rather thought that heaven must look something rather like this section of the store – towers of jellybeans and candies were lined against the walls while monstrous displays showcased every chocolate that Neville could think of. His Aunt never seemed to be impressed by the displays of candy, which made him think that being an adult must really be depressing if this array of sugar couldn't make you happy. Amusingly, his Aunt always would buy a bag of jelly beans, stating that she was glad they were 'safe'. Neville was shocked that she would enthusiastically eat the black ones, and when he asked her about it, she replied that her brother tricked her into eating the gross ones anyway, and that liquorice was a step up. Neville's Aunt was rather odd.

Even though it was about a week before his actual birthday, Neville rather fancied that he felt older. There was a strange charge in him that made him rather excitable at the strangest moments. Neville kept thinking he saw strange people in stranger outfits out of the corner of his eye. When he would mention these people to Faith, she would shake her head before insisting that it was nothing. Neville noticed that she would clutch something in her bag rather tightly after he saw the strange people.

He had lived with Faith for almost ten years, ten average years, as far as he could remember, ever since he'd been a baby and his parents had been killed in some accident. He couldn't remember what happened when his parents had died, or if he had been there when they did. Sometimes, when he strained his memory in the dark hours of the night, he came up with a strange vision: a blinding flash of green light and a burning pain on his forehead. This, he supposed, was the moment, though he couldn't imagine where all the green light came from. He couldn't remember his parents at all. His Aunt rarely spoke of his mother, if ever, and shushed his grandmother the few times she attempted to speak of his father. There were no photographs of them in the house.

When he had been younger, Neville had dreamed and dreamed of his parents coming home, coming to live with him and Faith and making them one big happy family; but it had never happened – Faith and Maera were his only family. Yet sometimes, he had the strangest feeling that strangers in the street seemed to know him. Very strange strangers they were, too. A tiny man in a violet top hat had bowed to him once while out shopping with Faith. After glaring at the man furiously, Faith pulled him out of the shop without buying anything, returning straight home. A wild-looking old woman dressed all in green had waved merrily at him once on a bus. A bald man in a very long purple coat had actually shook his hand in the street the other day and then walked away without a word. The weirdest thing about all these people was the way they seemed to vanish the second Neville tried to get a closer look.

A strange buzzing sounded in Neville's ears, and he blinked as he looked around for the source. Faith looked at him in curiosity, and he mumbled a response. "Headache, sorry."

"Would you like to head back?" Faith asked, brushing a worried hand over his forehead. When Neville nodded, she pulled out a few pounds and pence to pay for the ice creams, and led Neville out of the large department store. As they got outside though, the buzzing turned into a low level hum that pounded in Neville's ears. The scar on his forehead started to burn as though someone had rubbed ice one it rather suddenly, and he had the strangest feeling as though somebody was watching him. As Faith tried to wave down a cab, he rubbed his scar absently with one hand while looking about curiously.

"_Neville Longbottom…_"

Neville jerked to the side, looking down the road for whoever had hissed into his ear. The burning sensation grew colder, and Neville began to be a little afraid that there was something wrong with him. He looked across the road and saw a man in a black cloak, of all things, staring at him. Neville squinted at the man, trying to see if he recognized him, when the hum became a loud incessant hiss in his ears.

"_The boy-who-lived… step forward, little boy…"_

Neville tried to ask Faith if she could hear the voice too, but found that suddenly, he couldn't move. It rather felt like his body was floating, though Neville knew his feet were flat on the ground. He still had his eyes locked on the man across the road, but suddenly he couldn't identify anything about the man, other than the fact that he had to cross the road to talk to him. Going over to that man was the most important thing in the world. The hissing grew louder and more sinister as Neville's right foot jerked forward and he stepped towards the road.

"Neville," he heard Faith dimly under the hissing, she sounded confused. "What are you doing? The light's green… Neville?"

"_sssssstep forward… that's it…. Come to me, Longbottom…_"

Neville couldn't hear anything now except the hissing noises, and that dark voice insisting he step forward. Neville stepped onto the street, a small part of his mind reminding him of the cars that would speed towards him, but Neville didn't care. He just had to cross the road. A hand grabbed his elbow but he shrugged the person off and walked forward, ignoring the blaring horn of the car that was trying to stop a few feet away. Suddenly, his Aunt appeared out of thin air in front of him, breaking his view of the strange man. He blinked in confusion, why had he tried to cross traffic? And how had his Aunt moved from behind him to infront of him?

"Neville, _look out!"_ his Aunt pushed him back out to the sidewalk, and Neville watched with horror as the car that had tried to stop skid right into his Aunt, who rolled up over the car and landed on the street, not moving at all.


End file.
